


Breezeblocks

by demonbf (KnifeSoda)



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater, The Raven King - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: It's like an extended chapter 39 kinda, Kissing, M/M, TRK spoilers, This takes place in Chapter 39, i just wanted more kissing tbh, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 08:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6649384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnifeSoda/pseuds/demonbf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter thirty-nine, in my personal opinion, was a little bit short. Which worked well for the book, but since I can do anything I want with fanfiction, I decided to write a little bit more for my own personal gratification. This is unbeta-ed and totally just written for fun. I might reread it and edit it in the future, but for now, just get this thing away from me.</p><p>EDIT 4/25: Reread and reworked</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breezeblocks

The two of them stumbled back into the house, the cold night air following them in before swiftly being cut off, the door shutting behind them. Adam’s fingers were tangled in the fabric of Ronan’s shirt, pulling him closer, kissing him breathless.

It was something he hadn’t imagined, something that was still unimaginable, after everything else that was going on. At the same time, it wasn’t unimaginable at all; at the same time, he knew this moment would happen, it felt familiar, it felt _right_ in every sense of the word. 

Trepidation still prickled at the back of his mind even as warm pleasure unfurled in his cheeks and lungs, blooming under Ronan’s lips and fingertips like a flower in the spring, stretching towards sunlight. 

Adam hadn’t been sure he was capable of loving. Was this simply proof, or was it more? He pushed his doubts to the back of his mind, he’d resolved this particular line of thinking after kissing him outside; after Ronan saying, ‘Adam;’ a question, soft, all the sharp edges gone from his voice, so gentle that his heart felt like it had melted in his chest, warm like butter. Was this what it felt like to be loved? Was this what it felt like to love and be loved back? 

He was pretty sure this was no trick of the mind. At the very least, he hoped it wasn't. With all his heart, he felt like it was real. He knew, somehow, deep inside of him, that he would wake up in the morning and not regret a single second of this. Whatever _this_ even was. 

_How did you know that it was different than being her friend?_

_I suppose...she makes me quiet. Like Henrietta,_ Gansey had told him. 

Ronan was the opposite of quiet. Ronan was sharp and loud and _present_ , and even when he was silent, he wasn’t quiet. Even when he wasn’t speaking, he wasn’t quiet. 

But right now, Adam felt quiet. 

Quiet wasn’t exactly the right word. Perhaps it was peaceful. Perhaps it was just the feeling of returning home. 

This was a side of Ronan that Adam had never seen, and yet was still familiar with. Was quietly longing for, before he even knew it. The Ronan that found his way into Adam’s world, like Cabeswater, unfurling like leaves in the back of his mind and blowing his shortcomings away like sand in the breeze. 

Ronan was beautiful. 

This had always been a truth Adam was aware of, objective and inarguable. There was no one thing that made him beautiful, aesthetically pleasing, but it was a combination of everything that made him Ronan, even the things that weren’t necessarily visible. 

Pulling away, catching his breath, he took a moment to just _look_ at Ronan. He had seen Ronan's face hundreds, thousands of times before. He knew the curves and dips, the shape of his lips, the set of his jaw, the arch of his nose; long, dark eyelashes that tapered into sharp points, caressing the curve of his cheekbone and fluttering just slightly, somewhat un-Ronanlike in its delicacy, as he returned Adam's gaze. He looked at Ronan's face again, now in a different light, with a new level of understanding; something he hadn’t entirely grasped before, but he did now. This was the same face he'd seen hundreds, thousands, millions of times before, but for every new time he looked, he always found something new. Ronan was dynamic, and everything new that Adam found, he loved. He loved everything about Ronan, dreamer, god among men, fucking miraculous, wonderful, inexorable, Ronan.

Ronan was fucking beautiful. 

They did not how they had ended up back inside; it was an unspoken agreement that was where they were headed. Ronan had questions queued up, on the tip of his tongue, behind his eyes, or perhaps Adam was projecting. Those were his own questions. There were already answers to those questions. A mutual understanding. 

Gently, Adam let his hands relax, unfurling from the fabric of Ronan’s shirt, and stepping back. His mouth felt warm, pliable, electric. Ronan was looking at him, the same way he had been looking at him. The way Adam had pretended he hadn’t been looking at him, while he had been looking back, feeling inadequate, unworthy, like Ronan probably wished he couldn’t feel this was just as much as Adam wished he could. 

There were certain expectations that came with kissing. Certain words that should be exchanged, certain actions that should be taken, but Adam wasn’t sure what was appropriate. 

_Don’t hurt him, don’t lead him on,_ he told himself. 

_Don’t be so afraid,_ something else, another voice, told him. _There is nothing to be afraid of. This is Ronan. Only Ronan._

The words 'only' and 'Ronan' seemed out of place next to each other. Ronan was so much. Ronan was so much _more,_ and at the same time he was just Ronan. 

Fingers twitching at his sides, realizing he was being watched, realizing Ronan was waiting for something, was still unsure where this was going, what they were doing, why they were doing it, Adam also realized he should probably say something. 

So, he said, “Ronan,” softly, like a sigh, meaning no more and no less. 

Ronan, hesitantly, gentle in a way that he never was, brought his hand up to Adam’s cheek, caressing the skin beneath his eye, callused fingertips sending waves of something electric through Adam’s face, down his neck, his heart ignited and beating audibly against his rib cage. It took him a moment to realize he was staring at Ronan’s neck, his jawline, tracing the visible lines of his tattoo, skirting his gaze upwards to meet his eyes, everything seeming loud and fuzzy and warm. Nerves were alight in his body, in his stomach, as he brought his hand up to rest on top of Ronan’s, the one on his cheek. His thumb idly played along the leather straps, but he still held Ronan’s gaze, his pupils blown out, ringed by a thin circle of blue. 

Taking a breath, willing his nerves to calm themselves, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Ronan’s again. 

It was slow, at first, testing the waters; still worried, scared, in a way they had not been before (there was no mistaking what this was, and no turning back), but this time...there was no mistaking what this was. What they both felt. So there was time. No time wasted figuring things out. 

So they kissed. 

When Ronan tilted his head, moving his hand to the back of Adam’s head, he curled his fingers in the strands of brown hair that tapered down his neck, causing Adam’s spine to buzz pleasantly as he tried to lean into both the kiss and Ronan’s hand at once. 

The warm drop of pleasure from earlier had expanded to encompass his whole chest, buzzing with raw want, desire for something unnameable to be fulfilled. Now that the first step had been taken, he couldn’t stop. The momentum was too much. Once again, he curled his fingers into the fabric of Ronan’s shirt, ran his hands down his sides, savouring the feeling of Ronan’s hands in his air, on his necks, lips on lips on skin. 

With a gasp, he felt Ronan pull away, nosing at his neck. Letting out a sound he’d never heard himself make before - a sound he’d never heard anyone make before - he clenched his fingertips around Ronan’s hips, hoping that he might leave bruises in his pale skin. 

Lips and teeth were brushing against the tender skin of his neck, hungry, wanton, Adam’s own breath coming out in staccato bursts, his heart ramming against his ribcage at a million beats per second. He felt like he’d run for miles. Ronan’s mouth was against his neck, and he arched into his touch, keening, acutely aware of Ronan’s raw desire, mixed tangibly with his own. 

As he worked his way downward, to Adam’s collarbone, he seemed hesitate, not nervous, but conscious, cognisant, of Adam’s feelings. To Ronan, Adam’s reciprocation was something completely new, unexplored. He wasn’t wrong. Adam, though, knew he was open to exploring. Very open. Perhaps a bit too open. He knew Ronan. Inwardly, he knew this was going on a lot longer than they’d care to acknowledge. If he’d been asked to put a specific time-frame on it, he couldn’t. He wasn’t even sure what had changed, and when. It may have always been like this, as far as Adam knew. Or perhaps his mind was lust-addled and tired, over-worked and starved for love and affection. Perhaps the present was all his brain could truly comprehend. 

Ronan switched directions, kissing his way up to Adam’s cheekbone as they let their hands wander, fingertips against ribs, shoulder-blades, spines, bare skin, hiking up shirts; chests pressed flush against each other, breath intermingling intimately. 

Ronan let out a sharp gasp, uncensored, as Adam pulled away, but not forcefully. Adam took a deep breath, gathering his resolve. Tugging gently at the bottom of Ronan’s shirt, he glanced wanly upwards. 

“Is this okay?” he asked, but it didn’t feel like enough of an explanation. “I want to…,” he licked his lips uncertainly, “...I want to see your tattoo. I want to see _you._ ” 

He wasn't sure what he was saying, really. He felt like his soul was bared for Ronan, and the thought was at once both unsettling and thrilling. Before, he was afraid that Ronan might bare his soul too much, say something that crossed the boundary, something that would set the two of them spiraling backward and leaving them both awkwardly unable to patch the gap that create. Adam unable to repair the damage he'd done to Ronan. Now, he realized, it might be the opposite. He may be the one who wanted too much, who had been starving for too long, who would push Ronan too far for his comfort, but the words, 'I want to see you,' had left his mouth before he could stop them. The words 'I want,' were just as inexorable as Ronan himself, charged and unstoppable and full of raw emotion.

Adam felt like an exposed nerve. 

Ronan stared at him, and stared, and stared. Adam couldn’t guess what he was about to do. 

“Okay,” he finally replied, his words measured, “it’s not like it’s anything you haven’t seen before.” 

“But it will be different,” Adam replied, a bit more earnestly than he intended.

Ronan wasn’t a self-conscious person; in fact, he was rather self-possessed; he carried himself with a confidence and presence that Adam had idolized even before he’d stopped envying Ronan and started...feeling whatever this was instead. This wasn’t about being too nervous to take off his shirt. This was about being too nervous to admit what this was, what this could be; afraid to make Adam feel pressured into doing something he didn’t want to do. At the same time, Adam didn’t want to hurt Ronan, didn’t want to go too far only to backpedal, only to make Ronan feel his loss and detachment even more acutely and painfully than if he’d never pursued this at at all. The thing was, Adam desperately wanted this. He wanted to see Ronan without his shirt, tattoo bared so he could trace it with his fingers and his tongue. The thought send a shudder up his spine that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but charged in a way that he was unfamiliar with. 

Sucking in a breath, Adam said, “I’ll go first, okay?” 

Pulling his arms back, he tugged his shirt off by the back of his collar, letting it fall unceremoniously onto the hardwood floor. 

Ronan was consciously keeping his eyes trained on Adam’s, his gaze unbreakable, but Adam could see his fingers twitching, the light blush along his cheeks, the restraint it was taking him not to let his eyes wander. It made Adam’s chest swell with pride that he could make Ronan, stubborn, unshakeable, Ronan feel like this. 

Adam coughed awkwardly, fighting the urge to cover himself up with his hands. He was slender and delicate where Ronan was sharp and solid, freckles dotting his tan skin, concentrating on his chest and shoulders, crawling down his arms and up to his nose and cheeks. He wasn’t the self-possessed Ronan. He was the Adam that had been beaten and bruised, the Adam that, even after working in auto-repair since he was 14, remained slender and uncomfortable in his own skin, underneath his clothing. 

Ronan smiled. Adam was taken aback; that was something entirely unexpected. The smile seemed foreign on his features, warm and appreciative, gentle in a way that was so...not-Ronan, and yet so entirely appropriate that Adam’s breath hitched in his throat. 

Ronan stepped forward, their faces inches away from each other. 

“You’re beautiful,” he told him, voice soft, the words for Adam and Adam alone. 

Just like that, all of Adam’s self-consciousness was pushed to the back of his mind. He met Ronan’s gaze, and he smiled. Then he laughed. Then he pushed Ronan away, but not with malice. 

“You still have your shirt on,” Adam jibed, unsure of what he was supposed to say - was he supposed to say something flirtatious? - if that was the case, he’d failed miserably. 

Ronan shrugged, palms turned outward. 

“I never said I’d take my shirt off if you did,” he supplied by way of explanation. 

Adam felt equal parts annoyance and affection bubble up from the pit of his chest. 

“You’re impossible,” he sighed, but fondly. “I’m putting my shirt back on.” 

As he reached down, Ronan’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, stopping him. There was a pause, and he pulled Adam forward, and they were on the ground, bodies flush against each other, lips on lips, and skin on fabric. Adam’s hands worked their way under Ronan’s shirt, feeling the taut skin beneath his fingertips, imagining how it would feel under his tongue, his teeth. Things were moving quickly, but neither of them cared. There was this distinct feeling of not enough time, never enough time, like they needed to get this out of their system before...

Adam didn’t want to think about Gansey, but he was. His breath caught in his throat when he realized that any night now, he may never see Gansey again. He was going to die. He was going to die. _He was going to die._ He would never see Gansey again, if their plan to find Glendower didn’t work. Abruptly, he pulled away from Ronan. The air around him felt charged and numb at the same time. 

“...Adam?” Ronan asked gently, after a pause, the intimacy of his first name not lost. 

“Sorry, it’s just…,” he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud, but he didn’t want Ronan to think it was him, so he had to, “it was Gansey. I was thinking about Gansey. I was thinking about the future of...this,” - he gestured vaguely between himself and Ronan, “and then I started thinking about the future, and then...I thought...will Gansey even be around then? Will we…” 

“Fuck, Parrish, don’t think of your boyfriend when we’re making out,” Ronan quipped, but pain crept its way into his voice despite his words. 

Adam let out a resigned breath, but didn’t move to extricate himself from Ronan, instead leaning heavily on his chest and forcing his nerves to relax. 

“Sorry. I think too much,” Adam said, and he wasn’t wrong. It was his curse - overthinking, overanalyzing, always finding the downside, even when he didn’t necessarily have to search for one. “I didn’t mean to ruin the mood.” 

Ronan was silent for a second, and for that second, Adam was afraid that he had said something wrong, somehow stepped out of bounds. Then he felt Ronan’s hand in his hair, rubbing calming circles into his scalp. Adam felt his shoulders relax, the tension leaking from his body as he leaned into Ronan. 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Ronan sneered, moving his hand down to Adam’s back. “I don’t blame you for thinking of that shit. I think about it all the fucking time. I don’t know what’s going to happen. But us? This? This has nothing to do with that bullshit. This isn’t Cabeswater, this isn’t demons, this isn’t dreams, this is fucking normal teenage shit. You don’t need to mix the two, Parrish.” 

Adam snorted a laugh, but there was no humor behind it. 

“You’re right. I know.” 

They were silent for a minute, listening to each other breathe, just loving the other, feeling intimate in a way neither of them had ever felt before, but feeling so familiar in each other’s arms. 

“My back hurts,” Ronan said simply, after an indeterminate amount of time. 

“Wanna move to the couch?” he offered. 

“Sounds good.” 

Adam laughed softly at the mundaneness of this exchange, the quiet intimacy. Stretching, he extricated himself from Ronan, slowly getting to his feet. For a second, the room spun, as it does when you get up to quickly, but he found purchase on the island, the cool marble anchoring him back into reality. 

Reality. 

Adam scoffed inwardly as he helped Ronan to his feet and they made their way to the living room, moonlight filtering through the windows, the smell of hickory wood mingling with the memories being made this night, the night of truth. 

“Wait,” Ronan said, disentangling his fingers from Adam’s. “One more thing.” 

Before Adam knew what was happened, Ronan had tugged his shirt over his head, letting it fall to the floor. 

“Still thinking about bullshit?” Ronan prompted, but they both knew what he was really saying: _Are you still thinking about Gansey’s imminent doom?_

“Always,” Adam replied honestly, stepping forward and letting his hand wander around to the back of Ronan’s neck, tracing the sharp edges of his tattoo with his fingertips, “just now I’m thinking about you more.” 

This seemed to satisfy Ronan, since he kissed him, for the third or fourth time that night - Adam was losing count - and they moved to the couch.

**Author's Note:**

> Written to a couple of songs: 
> 
> Breezeblocks by Alt - J  
> Taro by Alt - J  
>   
> [ And my....personal Ronan Lynch playlist which is kind of old but I dug it up anyways. ](http://8tracks.com/vortexprince/reach-out-and-touch-faith)  
> [ Also you should totally check out my tumblr ;) ](synthboys.tumblr.com)
> 
> Also, Happy St. Mark's Eve !!!


End file.
